Chapter 1 #2
The parrot gives me a long, considering look, then launches itself back toward the office with what I can only describe as avian sarcasm.
“Your bird has a mouth on him,” I say.
He turns back to me, scowling. “Look. I don’t know what Malcolm told you about this place, but he’s a liar. The treasure is bullshit. The feud is bullshit. My family wants nothing to do with any of it.”
“Your family? You’re a Haven?” That surprises me.
I know from my research there are seven Haven siblings—Bodhi, Zade, Shea, Knox, Piper, Colter, and Wren.
I suppose he could be Bodhi, whose name is on all the paperwork for the family’s many businesses, but he doesn’t fit the description.
Bodhi Haven’s supposed to be polished and buttoned-down— a businessman running the family empire from behind a desk.
This man has boat grease under his nails and the look of someone who’d rather eat glass than sit behind a desk for any amount of time.
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, irritation flares in his eyes and he turns away to pick up his jacket from where he dropped it when he went into the water for my suitcase.
Water still drips from his hair down his neck, and when he reaches up to wipe it away, I catch an intriguing glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his wet Henley.
“Stay away from my family,” he says. “Stay away from the treasure story. And for fuck’s sake, watch where you’re walking in those ridiculous shoes. I’m not jumping in after you if you fall.”
He turns and strides down the dock without another word, boots heavy on the weathered boards. I watch him go, that broad back and those shoulders carrying a heavy weight that he pretends isn’t there.
Interesting.
The way he said “my family” with such fierce possessiveness tells me he’s deeply connected to the Havens, either by blood or marriage.
My smile fades at that thought.
Ugh. Why did it bother me to think of him married to one of the Haven sisters?
But, no, that doesn’t track. During my research, I didn’t find any mention of a marriage for Piper or Wren, and while Shea had been married once in her early twenties, that ended in divorce almost a decade ago.
And I doubt her frat boy ex would talk about her family with such possessiveness all these years later.
So maybe the Havens were the grumpy captain’s adopted family?
I need to find out.
I watch him disappear around the corner of a weathered boathouse, and something in my chest does a stupid little flip that I immediately shut down.
I don’t have time for stupid little flips.
I have a story to chase, a career to resurrect, and a suitcase full of soaked designer clothes that I need to unpack and figure out what’s salvageable.
But, first, I need to figure out where I’m staying.
Malcolm Merrick isn’t expecting me until tomorrow, but I’ve always found it beneficial to get a lay of the land before the official welcome wagon arrives.
Malcolm’s version of events will be carefully curated, and I want to know what the island looks like without his filter on it.
I turn back toward the marina office, and this time I notice a young man in a Haven Tours windbreaker behind the counter, scratching the parrot’s neck. He’s in his early twenties, at most, with a smooth baby-face, sun-bleached light brown hair, and kind brown eyes.
“Hi,” he says when I step inside. His smile is warm, genuine. “I’m Abel. You need a tour?”
“I need a tour and a hotel.” I eye Captain as he flaps his wings and gives me an evil, beady-eyed stare. “And possibly an exorcist for that bird.”
Abel laughs and pulls a keyboard tray out from under the counter.
“We already tried an exorcist, and it didn’t work, but I can help with the other two.
The Tidewater Resort’s got a room for you.
Malcolm wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, but knowing him, he has it ready.
And I can get you on the two o’clock Haven tour.
” He pauses his typing and looks up. “Does Dean know you’re booking a tour? ”
“Dean?”
He nods toward the dock. I glance out the big picture window and find grumpy Mr. Sexy Arms crouched on the dock, working a knot out of a heavy line with apparent frustration. “Oh. That’s Dean?”
“Dean Kinsella. The one and only.”
Not a Haven, then. So who was this guy, and how was he attached to the family?
“Well, no, I didn’t realize I needed Mr. Kinsella’s permission to book a tour.”
“You don’t.” Abel shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “But fair warning, he’s gonna be pissed.”
“He seems like the type who’s often pissed.”
“Only at people who work for my family.”
I turn back to Abel, unable to hide my surprise. “Wait, you’re a Merrick?”
He mutters something that sounds like, “Unfortunately.”
Huh. Even more interesting.
His smile returns, but it’s slightly frayed around the edges now, and he taps the keyboard. “Tour’s at two. Blue boat, white stripe. Dean will be your captain.”
“Fuck me sideways,” the bird squawks.
Yeah, my thoughts exactly.
My expression must give away my feelings on the matter, because Abel laughs. “I promise he’s the best. Knows everything about this island.” He hands me a key card. “Tidewater Resort. Top of the hill. You can’t miss it. It’s the one that looks like a Bond villain’s summer home.”
I take the key. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He glances toward the door, then back at me, and lowers his voice. “Dean’s not wrong, you know. About Uncle Malcolm having an agenda. He always does.”
“I figured.”
“Just—” He hesitates. “The feud’s complicated. People have strong feelings. Dean’s got stronger feelings than most.”
“Why?”
His expressive face shuts down. “Uh, maybe you should ask him.”
“I tried. He grunted at me.”
“That’s his love language.” Abel smiles again, but it’s careful now. “Tour’s at two. Don’t be late or Dean will be even more pissed off than usual.”
I thank him and head for the door, suitcase squeaking behind me. As I reach for the handle, Abel calls after me.
“Hey— the bulldog, Dockside Doug? He is actually in charge. We all just work here.”
I look back at the dog, still snoozing on his life jacket throne. He’s flipped to his back, all four legs in the air, jowls pooling on the floor under his head. His paws paddle the air like he’s swimming, and every once in a while he lets out a muffled woof.
“Uh huh.” I glance at Abel and the parrot bobbing its head on his shoulder. “Is the parrot in charge, too?”
“Captain? God, no.” He laughs and scratches the bird’s neck. “Captain’s just an asshole.”
“Asshole!” Captain echoes. “Shut it, asshole!”
I laugh and step outside into the salt air, hauling my suitcase toward the road.
The Tidewater Resort sits on the hill above town, all gleaming glass and sharp angles.
Below it, six blocks of weathered storefronts.
And somewhere between the two: a feud I don’t understand, a treasure hunt nobody believes in, and a ferry captain who looks at me like I am exactly the kind of trouble he’s spent years learning to avoid.
I pull out my phone again—still no signal—and tuck it back into my bag. Right. Off the grid. I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.
I start walking.